Recordings
by embracing-shadows
Summary: Video taping the team's annual New Years party brings about some rather excellent repercussions...as well as some excellent blackmail material


Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!

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I looked up when my shoulder was tapped. Ah, hello Catherine. No it's ok I don't really feel like dancing right now. She wanders off, a bit unsteady on her feet. It's a fine thing that Grissom's house has so many couches, there are going to be many people staying the night here tonight. Truth be told, I'm quite content to sit in my deep armchair, the only sober body, and just watch. Truth be told in a whisper, the only one I'm watching is Greg, who loves to dance. And I love that Greg loves to dance. It's delicious to see how he can sway those hips, and entrancing to watch the expressions of freedom and ecstasy that cross his face. He doesn't dance with anyone, and I like that. I'm curious about why not, but I don't ask. Warrick and Catherine and Sara have started a small circle of group dancing and Grissom bops his head around from his place on the floor where Sara put him. He does what ever Sara tells him to do. It might have been the brandy. For Greg is was the tequila. It was also the rum, and the vodka, and the vodka jello shooters. Only hard drinks for my Greggo. He says he likes to forget. At least, that's what he mumbles to no one in particular when he thinks no one is listening while pouring himself a rum and coke that is way over half and half.

So I watch him, re-memorizing his every curve and movement because I already memorized them a long time ago. Catherine tries to get him to dance with her to the provocative beat but he runs his own show. He's also only wearing one shoe. It's a very well organized show. Grissom gets up from the floor and is immediately pulled in to video worthy dancing with Sara. I remembered a video camera this year, and it's quickly taping them. But I make sure that every screen catches the dance moves of Greg's that I so covet. After a while I realize that Grissom and Sara have moved out of the shot and I'm just taping Greg, which makes me laugh at myself. I swing the camera about to get a shot of Warrick's face scrunched with concentration while he tries to throw down his best moves. I love my friends more than life itself, and every time we drink I can see why we all get along so well. It's because, deep down we're all the same person. We share the same essential soul. Each of us has been hurt, beaten down, broken in our very own way. But with the help of each other we get back up and carry on, better for having healed at the hands on loved ones. It's beautiful, really. We're all beautiful. And oh, if Greg isn't the most beautiful one of us all. The camera swings back to take in the young guy that finally stopped dancing, listening to a science joke from Catherine. As I zoom in, seeking a closer look, he bursts out laughing and it's the reason I go on living.

And then the camera is irrelevant, turned off quickly before someone sees I have it. The camera-wielder is always different each year. It suddenly doesn't matter anymore because Grissom is pointing out Greg, who sways on his feet, and I'm leaping up to catch him because no one else will think to. He falls but I get there in time and he doesn't hit the floor. I try to get him up right but he's grabbing the front of my jacket, trying to tell me something, and I can't hear it over Sara's kissing noises. I shake my head and put him on his feet but he sways again and I throw his arm over my shoulder. Warrick is making comments but I don't fear. They're all too drunk to remember it in the morning. They won't know what happened past when Greg bombed in to the room with a literal box stuffed with liquid entertainment, yelling about having to replace his whole stash tomorrow. But now I smile at how far gone he is. He's no lightweight.

"I think he needs to go home, Nicky," Catherine the mother figure is saying. I nod and we begin a fun game called 'Find Greg's Right Shoe'. It's a great game and all, but it takes much too long for my tastes. It is finally brought to an end when the shoe is located behind the toilet in the no-longer-immaculate bathroom. Then the item is once again decorating Greg's foot and we're calling goodbyes as we stumble out the door and across the gravel to my car. He almost pours out of my arms and in to the passenger seat of my Denali. The ride home is silent, but only because I think Greg is asleep. He mumbles when he's asleep and I think it's so adorable. Of course, I already knew that he did that. He naps in the lab a lot. I know that too. We're just turning on to his street when he wakes up. He's full of energy again, but I'm trying to drive. He reaches for the camera around my neck. He wants to film me driving. I try and bat his hands away without hurting him or going off the road but then there are clicks. Beeps. He's pressing buttons. I finally fight him off as we pull up to his house and I get out to help him. He wants to stay in the car. Telling him no will get me nowhere. Greg is heavier than he looks, but I'm stronger than I look, and he is hauled out of the car against many protests. I can't help chuckling. I'm helping him up the driveway and he leans heavily against me. I have absolutely no protests. And then we're on his front porch and I've unlocked the door for him but he doesn't go in. He's staring at me with that _look_. The one that I can't decipher. It makes me nervous because I can decipher all of his looks. Except that one. He whispers my name and I ask what he needs. Then he's surging forward and connecting with my lips and we're kissing and I've never tasted anything so fantastic. I think I've forgotten how to make H2O. I think I've forgotten my own name. Everything is blotted out by another name. Greg. All I know is Greg. But it's over too soon and I don't even hear the keening sound I make when he pulls away.

"Don't tell me I did that, all right?" he says. And with a cheeky grin he's stumbling in his house. The door closes in my face and I'm still staring at it. Still waiting for a lightening bolt to strike me twice because those two things don't go together and I'm so confused. I'm in my car again but it's forever until I find it in myself to leave the house. And I know I'm going home the same way I always do.

The next evening is a day off, but I'm away to Grissom's house again. It's traditional, of course. The recordings of the last night are always shown on his TV the next day. I don't mind. Grissom will take it and make everyone a copy. I don't mind that either. I'm driving over with my head in its usual whirlwind and the camera plugged in to its charger. I hadn't noticed the battery dying. Then I'm in a familiar warm house with familiar warm faces and Greg made it back hours before me. I avoid him like I always do. I wonder if he notices like he never does. We all have our coffee, that's a tradition too. They all sit on the couches but I lean against the wall today. Grissom fights with the wiring hooking his huge TV screen to his VCR. That's our favorite tradition. When he finally gets it working, it's always the same solution. He hits it. The movie starts to play.

_My name is Nick Stokes! And this is New Years 2008!_ My friends laugh at my exuberance. The scenes are never very long, and usually not connected. Each person is filmed arriving and showing what they brought. Greg is the last thing they remember. After that it's all my own memory and the movie is showing them what they did that night. There is much laughter when the high and mighty Grissom stumbles out of the bathroom swearing at his pants zipper. There are catcalls when an unsteady Sara fixes it for him. Cheers root for the impromptu chugging contest between Greg and Warrick and I'm the only one unsurprised that the younger man wins. Warrick mentions that his pride is hurt. Catcalls resound as Sara and Grissom do the dirty dance. I'm threatened with being fired for filming that. Then Greg is dancing and I can _feel_ him blush from all the way across the room. My laughter sounds from behind the recorder. It switches over to watch Warrick's funny faces while dancing with Catherine. And then the whole room perks up and my heart stops when we hear my voice, musing my thoughts out loud. Had I done that? I hadn't realized I was talking.

_I love my friends more than life itself, and every time we drink I can see why we all get along so well. It's because, deep down we're all the same person. We share the same essential soul. Each of us has been hurt, beaten down, broken in our very own way. But with the help of each other we get back up and carry on, better for having healed at the hands on loved ones. It's beautiful, really. We're all beautiful._ I can hear the two girls wiping their eyes and Warrick gives a manly cough. The boss says he didn't know I was that poetic. I'm blushing and then I'm groaning when my next thought pops out of the speakers._ And oh, if Greg isn't the most beautiful one of us all._ It's zooming in on his laughter and I can feel his eyes on me. I hear my friends' screams of laughter. I thought this was the most embarrassed I could get and oh how I was wrong. There is suddenly a series of disconnected scenes, all with my firm voice in the background as the camera is turned on and off again repeatedly. It ends up on against my notice, staring up at me while I park the car. Oblivious.

_All right Greg, I think it's off now. Come on, in the house with you._ I can hear my voice and horror runs through me. I know what's coming next. I'm scrambling for the remote but Sara is sitting on it and the VCR is slid under Grissom's chair. One last attempt can be made to block the screen itself but Warrick is wrestling me back out of the way and we see me hauling Greg up and we're walking towards his house. My pleas are shushed and I wait in horror for the urge to kill me to develop in Greg as we stop on his porch and he gives me that god damned look. And he's kissing me, and I'm protesting when he stops.

_Don't tell me I did that, all right? _And the door is slammed. But the camera is still rolling, and it's staring at my face, my shock and longing naked for all to see. The room around me is silent as they watch me sit in my car, dazed. And even though it's nothing but my face they watch the whole drive home, fascinated by all my emotions. My head is hanging but I can't tear my own eyes away from the screen as I let myself in to my own home and throw the camera on to the coffee table. It's the one facing the couch that I throw myself on, brandy in hand. I don't remember how I got it so fast. All I know is it's not there for long. Because I throw it at the wall. Yeah. And I scream.

_Leads me on every fucking time!_ I'm yelling. Then I'm grabbing that picture that the camera has spotted right next to me, the one of all of us night shift CSIs. And I'm gesticulating and yelling at it.

_And what do you do? You go home and live your perfect little straight life. And what do I do? I go home and I kill myself thinking about you. You ass._ And the picture gets thrown across the couch as I storm away to bed. They watch still, hoping for me to return. I won't. I've gone to sulk in my room. When they realize I'm not coming back Grissom stops the movie quietly and yet no one is saying a thing. Warrick let's go of my arms and my neck has never been hotter than it is now. I risk a glance at Greg and he's still giving me that fucking look. I can't take it. Before I realize what I've done I'm bolting through the house with their voices chasing after me but I've found my keys and I'm out the door. The gravel under my feet crunches as I fly towards my Denali but I'm tackled in to it instead. It's cold and hard and very much two tons of metal. And I can't move because someone has pressed me up against the window. But it's ok because they turn me around and it's only Greg. No, that's not ok. He knows what I feel now and suddenly I'm so ashamed of who I am. And if it weren't for the look on his face, that only one that I can't read, I'd have all the answers in the world for him. Excuses. But he whispers something that sounds like "you ass" and moves forward. He tastes just as good as last night. And I'm just as surprised but I recover faster. He might pull away again and my mind tells me to make the best of it. So I'm kissing him back and trying to hold him closer but he pulls away like I thought he would. Oh, he needs to breathe. He kisses me a second time and I might have to quit my job and say goodbye to my family because staying here for the rest of eternity kissing Greg Sanders sounds like the most wonderful way to spend the rest of my life. Maybe I'll die. That'd be nice. To die happy. Then he's pulling away to breathe again and he's panting just as hard as I am. What for? He's resting his forehead against mine. I love it.

"If you had just asked, you idiot." There's no malice in his voice. He's laughing at me. It takes me forever to get it. I'm sure there's the goofiest smile on my face ever but it's hard to care. It's hard to care about anything, really, when I have Greg in my arms and he's not pulling out of them. He kisses me again. It's so fucking beautiful. I can hear sounds of other people and it takes a few minutes for me to find the will to check who is there. Everyone. And Catherine has my recorder. It's kind of pointed at us. Well…I hope she's only taping over the boring bits. This will make one hell of an end to this year's party video.


End file.
